


life is the enemy

by Gildedstorm



Series: to eternity's end [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, everything is fine and I'm not bitter at all, ways of dealing with destiny as presented by a pair of edgelords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: Meditations on sacrifice, vengeance and a way forward.Or: Rkorya and Darth Marr make a weapon together, and shape an ending.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have lots of Thoughts that I haven't quite put together coherently yet about the... themes and railroading plot of kotfe/kotet, and trying to follow it while staying somewhat? true to rkorya's character arc was _so hard_ back when I was first playing through this segment, but on the other hand, I love darth marr.
> 
> this still mostly follows the whole ~it's your destiny~ thing but with a way more sombre tone because hey going through all of this is not going to end well! and that's okay, because sometimes all you need is to drag your enemies down with you.

“Darth Marr has conquered even death. That’s the kind of power I need to defeat Arcann.”

“Very well.”

She waits until the sound of Satele’s soft footsteps has faded, and she feels the banked glow of her power well out of earshot. Rkorya might be willing to take her advice, accept her _guidance_ , but there are many things she would keep secret from a Jedi.

Old habits die hard.

“You,” Darth Marr says, voice a harsh echo, “were not very convincing.”

The remark doesn’t even sting. Despite everything that has happened, the lingering pain that Valkorion inflicted on her, it’s _soothing_ to be in his presence again, even in this form. For so long, he had been another bitter memory of what she had lost. “It was true enough, in a fashion. That is all she needed to know.” A moment of hesitation – not long, because to hesitate is to look vulnerable, and however weak she has become, she can’t stand the thought of revealing it to one of the few people she has truly respected. “I wanted to speak with you.”

His mask turns towards her, unreadable. “Time is short.”

“If you both have time enough to philosophize at me about the path forward, I think we have time enough.” Already she has been pushed and pulled inexorably on a road she doesn’t want to even begin to walk, and she has only allowed it because without it, she would have no direction at all. If she can’t avoid this _destiny_ , then at least she can carve out some space for herself. “Or I could refuse to assemble the weapon, and we would waste that precious time arguing.”

A dry whisper of sound – it might have been a laugh. “You have grown stubborn.”

“You have Valkorion to thank for that. I spend much of my time resisting his influence.”

Perhaps he notes the venom in her tone, or simply doesn’t want to waste time after all. He inclines his head in curt acknowledgement. “Speak, then.”

“You want me to abandon being Sith.”

She wishes he would deny it, confess in private that he still holds to the old ways. An easy way out that she could cling to. But she knows Marr – he would not bother keeping up such a facade solely for Satele’s sake. “Yes.”

Rkorya doesn’t bother asking if, after killing Arcann she can somehow return to what she’s left behind. She’s not that naive. “I would have served faithfully as the Wrath, even if I hadn’t wanted the rank – but it was more than I could have hoped for. I could protect the Empire, there was a war to fight, we had finally focused upon our enemies and put an end to the infighting of the Sith...” It is a struggle to not sound wistful. She had been _happy_. “We were going to reforge the Empire, and free it from the traditions still chaining it. The galaxy would tremble in our wake.”

“I recall.” In death, his emotions are hidden to her – his presence in the Force is a wavering thing, flickering movement and unyielding pressure – but the edge of bitter anger to his voice is unmistakable, familiar enough to make her fists clench. “The Emperor abandoned us, and in turning from him, the Empire was freed from his grasp. If we had succeeded, we would have grown far past any of his plans.”

But instead, they had found Valkorion and his poisonous legacy.

She raises a hand, reaches out to the components she’d spent half the night gathering. This hasn’t changed, at least – the deft grip needed to build a lightsaber comes easily still. “It was an honour to be the Empire’s Wrath,” she tells him. “To stand with you. And all of this has been lost.” Anger has never been far from her reach, but now it bleeds into everything – sometimes Rkorya feels that she is only the sum of losses and rage now, that she will burn and burn until there is nothing left, of the world or of her.

There are worse endings.

“All of this has been _taken from me_.”

It is a strange thing, to feel her power sink into the kyber core and sense the echo as Marr’s follows it. Death hasn’t diminished his strength, but it has _changed_ it – it seethes hungrily, moving counter to her own.

“You will lose more before this battle is won. You cannot regain what Arcann has taken, but you can make him suffer for it.” Despite the mask, she feels the weight of his gaze. “To live is to struggle. Change is inevitable, on your path above all, but so is death. When it comes for you, it will be a comfort.”

It is a promise more than a reassurance. Valkorion tries to tempt her with a grand, untouchable destiny, one even her own people are starting to believe in. If she must change enough to accept it, then perhaps death truly will be a solace afterwards.

“I understand.”

“Know this: Valkorion chose you as Wrath to be another of his tools, nothing more. You surpassed his expectations, and my own.” That almost breaks Rkorya’s focus entirely – not just the praise, but the finality in his voice. This, she knows, is the last time she will be called by this title. Another thing sacrificed for what lies ahead. “You are not the only one who was honoured, Wrath.”

She has spent the past month mourning what had once been. She channels that grief now, lets it flow through her and out, burns it away. When she’s done, the lightsaber floats in front of her, looking just like any other, but the Force shifts around it, a hidden weight forcing it to curve away. A small thing to rest hopes on, but she has no room for _hope_. It will have to be enough, because there is no other choice.

“You carry my vengeance with you, now, as well as your own. Arcann is not your only enemy – you must cut down every remnant of Valkorion’s power, or you will never be free of him.”

“You say that as if I need the encouragement.” That gets another dry laugh, fainter than the first.

“Fight well. Avenge us both.”

She reaches out and the saber slides into her hand smoothly, the weight of it familiar. She’s done this countless times before, but there’s no mistaking it now – it feels like an ending.

“I will.”


End file.
